1. The Blue Guitar


    Date: 7/20/2016, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 7, Source: LushStories

    behind the counter. The man looked up at Orrin, then went back to putting strings on a violin. It was a small store--dingy and dark. In addition to instruments it sold CDs, but also had a table with old record albums. A sign over the table said, Vintage Records—Used . Orrin asked how much the blue guitar was. The man looked at him and said a thousand dollars, then walked over to the window and brought it over to him. Orrin knew nothing about guitars. The man told him it was a classical guitar with nylon strings instead of wire and that he knew the man who made it. He handed it to Orrin. “Hold it. See how it feels,” and added, “It was originally twenty-five hundred dollars, but no one wants a blue classical guitar, so now it’s a thousand.” Orrin had never held a guitar before, but when he cradled it in his arm, then gently plucked one of the strings, he felt that tingle again, a strange vibration. He strummed it and loved the rich sound it made and again, the vibration rippled through his body. He put his finger on the lowest string at one end and plucked, then moved his finger up the string a little more and plucked again, then one more time, he plucked, then told the man, “I love the sound of this guitar. It’s beautiful, but there’s no way I could afford a thousand dollars.” The man nodded and said he was selling it for the person who made the guitar, an old friend of his since childhood. He thought for a minute, “Maybe I could sell it cheaper, but I have to ask my friend.” ...
    He told Orrin his friend had been making guitars his whole life, but this was the last one he would ever make, then added, “I don’t know why he painted it blue. I told him it was nuts, no one would buy a blue classical guitar.” He paused and looked at Orrin, then narrowed his eyes. “I like the way you look holding that guitar. For some reason I think you should have that guitar. Maybe my friend would sell it for a lot less than a thousand dollars. I could ask him.” Orrin looked at the guitar, then back at the man. “Thank you, but I doubt I could afford anything. We just moved to town and we don’t have much money.” He strummed the guitar again, closed his eyes and felt that strange sensation again. “ What’s your name?” “ Orrin,” he answered and plucked the string again, and again, the sound sent a tingle through his body that thrilled him. “ I’m Hermes.” “ Hermes, like the Greek god?” Orrin asked, surprised. “I love mythology. It’s one of my favorite things to read. Hermes was the messenger.” “ My family is Greek. My parents named all of their children after Greek gods, but I tell most people my name is Herman because if I tell them my real name, I get strange looks. No one in this country is called Hermes.” “ So why did you tell me your name was Hermes and not Herman?” “ I’m not sure, but when I saw you holding the guitar that my friend made I wanted to tell you my real name. It just felt right. Some things you can’t explain. By the way, my friend’s real name is Apollo, but ...
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